


Crimson Headache, Aching Blush

by ashembie



Series: i like the thrill of under me you so quite new [1]
Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23617675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashembie/pseuds/ashembie
Summary: “You’d let me have you like that?”“Do you object?”“God in heaven, absolutely not."
Relationships: John Granby/William Laurence
Series: i like the thrill of under me you so quite new [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804603
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	Crimson Headache, Aching Blush

**Author's Note:**

> It's been four years since I published a fic on here, so I figured I'd come back with a bang (pun fully intended)
> 
> Big hugs and thank you's to my cheerleaders in the Temeraire discord - bilau, borrowed voices, whrain, and writermegg
> 
> Special shout-out to my porn mentor erebones, may this be the first of many you beta for me 
> 
> I have no idea when this takes place, so I tagged it as Canon Divergence 
> 
> title from Heaven in Hiding by Halsey

The day had been long and tiring. An early start after an unexpected night patrol combined with regular drills, and an excruciating couple of hours going over maths and geography with his ensigns, meant Laurence was ready for bed much earlier than usual. After dinner he doesn't linger in the officer’s lounge as has become his habit, but bids the others a good night and goes to his bedroom.

He hasn't had the chance to take off his jacket before the door opens again to admit Granby, who immediately falls back onto Laurence’s bed with a groan of relief. Laurence smiles at his antics.

“Surely you have not missed the pillows that much?”

“I have,” Granby groans again, theatrically, “Desperately so.” He lays there for a moment with his eyes closed and Laurence is happy to look at him so relaxed. He sighs and looks up at Laurence with an expression that curls hot in Laurence’s chest.

“And here we are, with the whole evening ahead of us,” Granby wonders aloud, “What to do first?”

“Do you want to draw paper from a hat?” Laurence asks quips, “Maybe roll some dice?” 

A laugh startles out of Granby. Laurence shrugs out of his jacket and steps out of his boots before sitting on the bed next to Granby’s waist.

“Well, as my own experience is sorely lacking, so I will bow to your expertise.” Laurence says, trying to keep the easy smile on his face. 

“I cannot claim _expertise_ ,” Granby repeats with an amused smirk, tucking his arms behind his head, “Alas I cannot spend all day in bed with my harem of lovers, as I have other duties.” It was Laurence’s turn to laugh a little. He ducked his head and carefully removed all thoughts of Granby in the arms of others that had come before him. Instead he thought of what he wanted to ask but could not yet form into words.

“What is it?” Granby asks, curious. He sits up and leans towards Laurence, so they are face to face. “What troubles you?”

Laurence falls silent again, worrying his lower lip. Thinking late into the night had not helped him organise his thoughts. Perhaps… it would be more efficient to not think about what he was trying to say. “It is not troubling, but I have been wondering – I had thought we could – now that we are not likely to be called away in the middle of the night – ” Christ Almighty, this was not efficient in the slightest; in fact it may even be worse. Laurence persevered and forced his mouth to move. “Not to say that I have not enjoyed what we have done together, but – ”

He sees the realisation dawn on Granby’s features, and a slow smile spreads across his face. This offers no comfort. 

“Captain William Laurence,” Granby says, affecting a tone of scandalized amusement that makes Laurence’s cheeks heat, “are you trying to tell me that you’re disappointed that you haven’t bent me over your desk and fucked me yet?” 

An entirely involuntary noise of mortification emerges from Laurence. It has always been exasperating at how much delight Granby seemed to get out of watching him squirm in situations where his good manners fail him; but when it came to discussing matters of the heart, or of intimacy, he was an absolute wretch. A wire of agonising nerves wraps itself around Laurence’s spine and the words fall out of his mouth:

“Actually I rather hoped for the opposite.” He closed his eyes in distress. When there is no response, Laurence steals himself for a series of sharp-toothed grins and outrageous vulgarity, but he opens them again, and find Granby looking at him like a marooned sailor at sails on the horizon: a mix of wary disbelief, and hunger. 

“You’d let me have you like that?” 

Laurence swallows. 

“Do you object?” 

“God in heaven, absolutely not,” Granby reaches out, hand hovering like he isn’t sure he's allowed to touch until his fingertips brush against Laurence’s shirt, “But I would know if you have done this before.”

“I have never had the opportunity,” Laurence says truthfully. In his youth aboard ship there had only been time for hasty hands and mouths, and when he had been older, and therefore of higher rank, it had not been wise to seek out longer affairs where he might have advanced his knowledge of carnal matters. 

“Then we will take our time,” Granby lets out a breath slowly, “Say a word and I will stop; do not hide your discomfort here, Will,” He is entirely serious for once; his eyes bore into Laurence, leaving no room for ego or braggadocio. The gravitas of his tone soothes Laurence’s nerves. 

“I swear,” Laurence promises. Granby smiles, and the expression suits him much more than solemnity.

“Do you trust me?” He asks. 

“As I do no other,” Laurence says simply, honestly, and brushes his own hand up Granby’s chest to cup his jaw and lay a soft kiss on his lips. Granby sighs contentedly and melts into him. He is a passionate man who cares very much about many things, and chiefly among them is kissing. 

Once, before their relationship changed, there was a rare relaxing evening where they were both deep in their cups, leaning companionably upon each other as they slumped, and something had set Granby off waxing poetic about how lips and tongue and teeth intensifies every intimate sensation. Laurence had responded in disbelief, as even his nights with Jane Roland hadn’t involved much kissing, and none of them had ever _blocked out the wide world_ ; although the description had sparked a distant memory of a poem that he would never admit to enjoying in polite company, and Laurence had then stumbled his way through a rather rambling recitation. Granby had been absolutely enamoured with his clumsy performance; the memory stood Laurence in good stead as he tracked down a collection of the poet’s work for Granby the following Christmas, and the book now resides on his bedside table. Occasionally Laurence would read aloud and make their little room an everywhere in truth. 

In the here and now, Granby’s hands wander all over him as he peels him out of his clothes, drifting over scars and admiring the toned muscle that Laurence doesn’t concern himself with beyond maintaining its practicality. But he knows that his figure, broad shoulders and trim waist, is pleasing to more than just Granby’s eyes, although it is only Granby’s eyes that he cares to admire him now. 

He pulls Laurence down to the bed over him, then slowly rolls them over so he is a solid, comforting weight on Laurence’s chest. Granby nibbles his lips and laps with his tongue; when Laurence opens to let him in, he tastes the wine they had enjoyed at dinner, and hums a little in anticipation. Before, (and Laurence now divides his life into Before the events that led to his meeting John Granby, and After), kisses were either a brush of air over a lady's gloved knuckles, or a crush of lips as a hasty prelude to the carnal acts. The latter was something he usually refused — it seemed pointless when his mouth could be put to other uses that were more satisfying. 

But now Granby lingers even more than he has before, his ministrations soft and wet and inexorable, until Laurence is shivering and there are spots dancing in front of his eyes. When he has to jerk his head to the side to breathe, Granby doesn't take offence — if anything there is a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he moves to lick the shell of Laurence's ear. He moans as he lavishes a slow seduction down Laurence's neck and along his collarbone, as if causing the sensations was just as pleasurable as receiving them. Laurence, used to being in charge, and completely unused to such attention, clutches at his shoulders helplessly.

“What are you doing?” The question slips out after Granby moves from his neck, down his chest, and is now kissing and licking and nibbling his way across Laurence's hips, avoiding the place Laurence needs his touch the most. 

“Fucking you,” murmurs Granby into the place where Laurence's hip meets his thigh. 

He dedicates himself to leaving a line of soft red marks down Laurence's thigh, and Laurence shifts impatiently in his grasp. He stares at the ceiling, his face hot; he feels — he feels he has disappointed Granby. Did Laurence think he was having sex without all these caresses and kisses? What cheap imitation of lovemaking was he putting himself through without such attention? Such intensity of feeling? 

By the time Granby has opened him up and moved into the cradle of Laurence's hips with intent, Laurence has thrown all his preconceptions of sex out of his head. He didn’t know long, lingering fingers could feel like that, either. Granby's teeth are gritted as he moves into him carefully, trying to be gentle. Laurence doesn't want gentle, he wants the full blow at once, and wraps his arms around Granby's shoulders to pull him close and into another kiss, until at last they are together and there is nothing else to do except follow their instincts and move. 

Christ, God, _God_ , it’s so good. Laurence shocks himself with his whimpers. Does it feel like this for every man? Would it feel this good for Granby, if Laurence held him close and fucked him? His tenuous grasp on his thoughts vanishes as Granby braces himself with one hand in an iron grip on Laurence's hip, the other holding a handful of Laurence’s hair, and he looks into Laurence's eyes as he pulls it. He keeps pulling, and now may be the best Laurence has ever felt and from the smug look on Granby's face he knows it. 

He whispers in his ear as he thrusts, praise and filthy encouragement in equal measure, and Laurence bites his lower lip to hold in the noises at the back of his throat. Granby ducks down and takes his lip in his own teeth, freeing those appalling noises so they join the cacophony of the bed against the wall, the sounds of skin on skin, and Granby's own stuttering groans. His clenching hand in Laurence's hair makes Laurence scratch harder at his back, which makes him thrust faster so Laurence scratches, and on and on they drive each other.

Laurence doesn't know how long they fuck; time becomes a fluid, fickle thing with Granby between his thighs and his tongue licking into his mouth. Any moment he expects the pleasure to meet its apex but it keeps going, impossibly good for an impossible amount. He's full-up with Granby, the snap of his hips and drive of his cock relentless inside him urging him higher and higher and finally over the edge.

A cry like he's never made from his throat as he comes hard, spilling over Granby's fist, eyes clenched shut. It is unlike anything he’s ever known as Granby keeps his hand and his hips moving, drawing his orgasm from a single moment into a tidal wave; it crashes over him, from the blood thundering behind his eyes to his curling toes. 

Light-headed, breathless, Laurence fights to shake the dizziness off because he wants to feel it, wants to feel — he moans as Granby sighs his name like a benediction, his hips stuttering, and spills deep inside him. Bracing himself on the arm by Laurence's head, sweat slips down Granby's furrowed brow, his mouth open and panting as he chases the last of his orgasm, tiny twitches of his hips that he can't control, sending sparks up Laurence's spine with every movement. He gazes up at Granby, waiting for his eyes to open. Finally he is rewarded, and sucks in a startled breath at the tenderness of his gaze. Granby shifts his weight and their noses brush; even while Granby is still _inside him_ , the accidental intimacy makes him blush and flick his eyes away. 

Granby is careful in pulling out, and now Laurence does appreciate his care. Their sweat-slick skin glued them together, joining their bodies for a single cause, and separating doesn't hurt as much that it feels like trying to remember how to be two different people. When Laurence rises to clean himself, he winces, and doesn't know how he's supposed to think about anything for the next week with this deep ache colouring his every movement. 

They lay back down, drawing the covers and slotting their legs neatly together. Granby rubs the muscle of his aching thighs with a grimace. 

“Are you well?” The question is murmured as Granby noses along his jawline. Laurence smiles, lying warm in the afterglow, feeling well-fucked, and well-loved. 

"I am." He hesitates, unsure how to proceed. Granby is clearly close to sleep. If Laurence says something in haste the night could end on a sour note.

"What is it?" Granby mumbles, "I can tell your eyes are open still."

"It is only... We are not in set roles here, are we?" 

Laurence's question has made Granby open his eyes in confusion. 

"Set roles?" His face pulls into a frown, "We may do what we like in bed Will, no one else is here to give an opinion. We may fuck a dozen times a night in any way we want, or we may never do more than kiss goodnight and go straight to sleep." Granby props himself up on one elbow, looking intently at him and completely awake again, just as Laurence feared. "What has made you ask?" 

"It is not as serious as you believe, I'm sure," Laurence assures hastily, "Only... I enjoyed myself tonight more than I anticipated, and — and I wondered if you would be much opposed in doing the same again, when you have previously said you yourself usually _receive_ attentions in bed, and I wouldn't want you to be unsatisfied —" Laurence stops, his face hot and horrifically red _again_ because Granby is looking at him with an expression of a cat who had just gotten the cream. 

"If you want me to fuck you senseless Will, all you have to do is ask," he grins wickedly, and Laurence feels his blush creep down his neck because it isn't an exaggeration, his mind does feel rather scattered, "several times, at volume —" 

"Give me a reason to beg and I will do so," Laurence interrupts, determined to play along despite his blushes. Granby looks delighted at his voice so rough and low, and ducks his head to press a brief but thorough kiss to his lips. 

"You are cruel to talk of making you beg when we should be sleeping," he mumbles against Laurence's lips. He shivers as Laurence lightly runs his fingers down the scratches he left earlier. 

"Let us sleep then, so the day will come faster, and with it the following night," Laurence says, and shifts around to get comfortable. Granby sprawls on him like a lanky octopus, and Laurence finds it ridiculously endearing. 

"That, William Laurence, might be the best idea you've ever had," Granby mumbles somewhere down by his collarbone. With the comforting weight on his chest and the warm blankets around him, Laurence follows him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> the poem Laurence drunkenly recited was The Good-Morrow, by John Donne. his poems have a lot of sly dirty phrases, and he wasn't widely read until the late 1800s, but he's one of my favourite poets so I'm promoting him here 
> 
> https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44104/the-good-morrow


End file.
